


Refraction

by Magisey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fictober, M/M, Not Beta Read, it's mostly a lot of emotions and things happening back and forth, no one dies, out of order story telling, readers will have to piece together the flow of the timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magisey/pseuds/Magisey
Summary: When he was younger, he had sat beside his grandfather’s deathbed. As the old man drew closer to the end of his life, Hanzo asked more questions.Finally, in a hushed whisper he broached the subject he wanted to know more than anything, “What happens when we die?”His grandfather smiled, bittersweet and wistful, “The dragons take their due. They judge our souls and decide if we are worthy to be among them.”In the darkness where Hanzo floated, he wondered if he was worthy. If the year at Overwatch had changed anything. Likely not, but he had fought and died in battle. He had honor in his death. Finally, his burdens could be put to rest.





	1. Can you feel this?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChillieBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/gifts), [zac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zac/gifts).



> Fictober! Every day is a new prompt. The story is told out of order, in bits and pieces.  
> A gift to Rach and Zac <3  
> Awesome friends whom I love dearly

“--anz -- ease -- c’mon Hanzo.”

Odd. When had he become Hanzo? Wasn’t it Shimada? No, it was Agent Shimada… No, it had been Hanzo. Hadn’t it?

“Fuck, baby, don’t do this.” McCree’s distressed voice came through a thick layer of wool. “C’mon, open your eyes for me beautiful.”

Baby. Beautiful. Those were new. Weren’t they? Bastard. Asshole. Show off. Those seemed a better fit.

And yet the command had him opening his eyes blearily. Everything was fuzzy, covered in a gauzy film. Almost like smoke, obscuring every inch of detail before him. Every other image would overlay upon itself - flashing, imprinting pieces, over and over again. Dizzying. Exhausting. And yet he could see, within those flashes, pieces to hold on to, to anchor his focus - warm brown eyes with crows feet; furrowed brows; A scar on moving lips. 

Lips that were saying something. Saying words that finally found their way to him.

“Hanzo, stay awake for me. C’mon. Honey.”

A hand cupped his cheek. Maybe. He couldn’t quite tell. It was like every sense was on a massive delay, working through the tangled wires in his brain.

Was the touch gentle? Or rough? Slowly, his eyelids sank. The desperation in those warm brown eyes intensified.

“Can you feel this?”

No. His eyes closed, his last vision of tears on Jesse’s cheek.

  


When he was younger, he had sat beside his grandfather’s deathbed. As the old man drew closer to the end of his life, Hanzo asked more questions. 

Finally, in a hushed whisper he broached the subject he wanted to know more than anything, “What happens when we die?”

His grandfather smiled, bittersweet and wistful, “The dragons take their due. They judge our souls and decide if we are worthy to be among them.”

  


In the darkness where Hanzo floated, he wondered if he was worthy. If the year at Overwatch had changed anything. Likely not, but he had fought and died in battle. He had honor in his death. Finally, his burdens could be put to rest.

_ “Can you feel this?” _

No, but he wanted to. That desire coiled around his heart, even as he was pulled into the waiting dragon’s maw.

_ Don’t make me go just yet. _

But what was the plea of a twisted mortal man to an ancient being?

He plummeted into the raging storm always brewing in the dragon’s belly.


	2. "People like you have no imagination."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay in getting the chapter out. On the 3rd and 4th I was basically in the hospital all day. Turns out one of my ovaries had a cyst that hemorrhaged. It sounds more brutal than it is (basically a blood pocket on my ovary popped). But it was *real* painful. A CT scan also showed my autoimmune disease is up. SO YEAH. I'm sorry for that delay but it was out of my control. I'll try to catch up as fast as I can
> 
> I also want to note that Jesse is not as big of a dick as it seems in this chapter. A lot of this is viewed through Hanzo's anxiety.
> 
> TW: light bdsm, mention of possible subspace, public sex kink, voyeurism

Hanzo wasn’t sure what was worse - the heat or the noises. He was partial to saying the heat, and how it carried the scent of alcohol and sweat throughout the area. An area that was quite large, and yet felt like a postage stamp of elbows and skin. 

The noises were just as terrible. Loud base pumping out at a volume that made even thinking a chore. Standard club fare music. Then, because the music was loud, the chatter of voices swam right below the beats, a steady static buzz that made his skin crawl.

Sighing deeply, he looked down at the rum and coke in his hand and took another sip. The bar was decent, at the very least. He stood near the far corner, as far away from the noise and dancefloor as humanly possible.

It wasn’t like clubs were a novelty to Hanzo as his family had owned many. So as both patron and owner, he had been in or around the establishments. There were just other things that made this particularly uncomfortable - like how the sides of his head were  _ cold _ . Or how the constant inane com chatter made staying focused a gargantuan task.

_ “It’s the fashion right now. Gosh.” _ Hana sounded almost offended, and it might have been cute if this hadn’t been going on for ten minutes.

_ “Perhaps, for you,”  _ Genji’s mic rested below the faceplate - built in for ease of communication. It left his brother’s voice pure, unadulterated.  _ “But it looks strange on Hanzo.” _

After countless missions, Hanzo had swore the effects of hearing Genji were gone. No more sinking feeling. No more skin-crawling nostalgia that took his breath away. But this venue, the noises, the scents… He chugged the rest of the glass, praying for distraction or numbness. Or the courage to turn off the com. His fingers itched to press the button behind his ear.

_ “Enough you two.” _ Ah, a voice Hanzo didn’t mind hearing. Warm and clear,  _ “Change positions.” _

Following orders was easy, but a fresh rum and coke placed before him made things difficult. Hanzo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing out loud. It would appear odd to just leave the drink there when he hadn’t requested to stop - and drawing unnecessary attention was not what they wanted right now. 

“That’s my final.” At the very least, the omnic waiters had noise cancellation, so no shouting was needed. It bobbed its head and went to attend someone else, leaving Hanzo with drink.

His… Fourth? Fifth? No that seemed to high. He hadn’t drunk four glasses… Had he? It went down easy, a pleasant buzz muffling the thoughts bouncing in his head.

“Well, now. Is that a dragon in your pants, or are you just happy t’see me?” At any other time, Hanzo might have laughed at the poor pick up line. Especially since he could hear the smug grin in McCree’s voice. Unfortunately, they were on a mission and tasked with acting like they didn’t know one another.

Rolling his eyes, Hanzo replied in a cold, disinterested voice, “People like you have no imagination.”

“Ah, don’t be like that.” McCree finally came into view, leaning in on the bar with one elbow. Hanzo gave him a sidelong glance, eyes raking over his body from head to toe. Turned out, the man could clean up nice. His beard had been trimmed and his hair was combed into a small, but neat ponytail. With no serape, hat, bulky chaps or chest plate to hide behind, McCree’s body was on full display. Especially since the plaid shirt he’d pick was nearly skintight, curving over his pecs and tucking neatly into his pants. And those pants… They sculpted a surprisingly pert ass.

Not that Hanzo had been staring.

Much.

“Been watching you for a while.” McCree’s smile was as rich and warm as voice - a succulent, rumbling purr that raised goosebumps on Hanzo’s skin. Though the words set off alarm bells in his head, “Drinking all by your lonesome here. Waitin’ for someone?”

It very well could have been a critique, because Hanzo hadn’t been doing a good job of blending in. Instead of mingling, dancing, or doing other things, he had sat at the bar and drank far too much to be completely mission ready. But there was no anger or disappointment in Jesse’s face, only open curiosity. It did little to settle his nerves.

Frankly,  the thought of dancing and grinding on someone had set his stomach into knots.  Because something stood in the way, that something now standing - well leaning - right beside him.

Their romps were fun, but he wasn’t sure what his relationship with Jesse... _ was _ . Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? Something more? With that twist of emotion in him, Hanzo couldn’t find it in his heart to fling himself into the club scene as he once would have, seeking a partner for the night or some quick fun. And he really, really didn’t want to see Jesse up to the same shenanigans.

Ever the coward, he never brought it up; never asked the questions that lingered in the shadows of their relationship. Instead, just pushed it away. And then drank four rum and cokes.

But with four rum and coke mixes swimming in Hanzo’s veins, worry or questions simply didn’t matter. His anxiety was all but gone. Without hesitation, he responded, “I am indeed.”

Jesse’s look of shock was mirrored by his own. They stood still, stiff and struck by the words. Uncertainty and worry creased Jesse’s face as his eyes flitted to the half drank cup back to Hanzo. “And, tell me who that might be sugar?”

“The right man.” Liquid courage. For a brief second Jesse looked away, and as Hanzo turned his head to look, he was stopped. McCree’s flesh hand gripped his chin, turning it back.

“Well darlin’,” Fire seemed to flicker in Jesse’s eyes, his hand as hot as a brand as it slid up his jaw to cup the back of Hanzo’s head, “Mr. Perfect just walked in.”

McCree’s fingers brushed behind his ear. Like they were a magnet, as the fingers slid away from Hanzo’s jaw, he followed them in closer and closer. 

The first kiss was soft, chaste. Somehow the hesitancy, the gentleness, burned across Hanzo more than something rough or needy could ever do. This close, he could see the smattering of freckles over the bridge of McCree’s nose.

“What say you we go and find someplace a bit more private?” Jesse tucked a lock of his hair that had fallen out of the pony behind his ear. 

“Yes, please.” Swiftly they left the bar and headed to an emergency exit. McCree’s hand rested on his lower back, keeping them hooked together. His fingers skirted the hem of Hanzo’s pants, but mostly brushed the swell of his ass, teasing a full grab. Something, Hanzo realized, he wanted more than anything.

Even the cold air outside could not calm the burning need inside him.

Shoved against the wall, Hanzo gasped and arched. Hot hands grabbed at him, pulling at his pants as an insistent, needing mouth bit and licked at his lips. Every sense was overwhelmed, smothered by McCree.

“You like it, don’t ya?” McCree poured each word into his ear, syrupy thick and warm, “Like bein’ manhandled.”

“I..” Any response was lost in a low, breathy moan. McCree had worked his fly open and jerked underwear and pants alike down to his knees. The brick wall of the alley dug into his ass cheeks as McCree fished him out, already embarrassingly hard. 

“Moans are good but ain’t words. Tell me, you like this?” McCree spit into his hand and wrapped it around Hanzo’s cock. In any other circumstance, he would have been disgusted. As it was, Hanzo was already thrusting into the wet hand for more, more, more. But he was held in place, sandwiched between McCree’s body and the wall.

“I do. I… I like it.” Oh, and blessedly, the man moved. There was no subtle build up, no drawing tension to the peak. Jesse’s pumps were vicious, tight and fast. Hanzo gasped, giving tiny, rabbit quick thrusts into the hand.

“Good boy.” And how that made his knees weak. He moaned, loud, louder than he should, but there was no scolding. Just kisses to his neck as Hanzo’s head rolled to the side, “Keep making those sweet noises. I want t’hear you.”

“Jesse.” It was an undignified whine, but he couldn’t care less. Teeth, biting and marking his neck was the response.

With faltering, clumsy movements, Hanzo worked Jesse’s jeans opened. For the first time, the cowboy groaned aloud, his jerking faltering. “Oh darlin’...”

Grinning ferally, Hanzo fished him out, scooting the waistband of his underwear below Jesse’s balls. Biting Jesse’s lower lip, he sucked on it slowly - as slow as each jerk. “I want,” His words were breathy and low, whispered against Jesse’s open mouth, “You to fuck me.”

Something in that snapped Jesse from his daze. Hanzo was pushed back into the wall, their rhythm now slower as they worked around one another. “Not this time, darlin’.”  Eyes closed, Hanzo rode the waves of pleasure as they lapped at him, rolling over and pushing him closer to the edge.

“Looks like we got ourself an audience.” Jesse’s words drug Hanzo from his stupor. Head rolled to the side, he could barely see a man at the other end of the alley. Details were hazy, but he  _ knew _ . There was no mistaking the motions. Hanzo groaned, arching into Jesse’s touch. Heat pulsed along his body, settling in his core.

“Why don’t we show him what a good boy you are, darlin’.” Hanzo’s breath hitched his focus back on Jesse. “I’m thinking if I told you to come, you would. ‘Cause you’re so good to me.”

It was as if the world had dropped. Hanzo was floating, hazed by the sudden idea. He gripped onto Jesse like a lifeline with his free hand, his partner’s needs largely forgotten.  _ Tell me. Order me. Please. _

“Yeah, you do like it. So good for me.” A gentle kiss as the strokes became longer, slower. Just the right pace, the proper movements that somehow Jesse knew would set him aflame. “Come for me, darlin’.”

Hanzo arched, head rolling against the brick wall as a broken moan was torn from him. Slammed over the edge, floating, buzzing, as he came. His toes curled as he held onto Jesse. Some part of him realized Jesse had come, the cock in his hand pulsing. It didn’t matter. Praises drowned him, wrapped around him and pulled Hanzo apart. Apart, in tiny bits, away from reality. Locked in a warm world, with a large body wrapped around him, holding him together for once.

Not alone.

But it was short-lived, reality nibbling at the edges, working its way back into Hanzo’s senses.

Words were the first thing he got back.

“He available for someone else?” A new voice, tenor and trembling.

One of Jesse’s hands gripped Hanzo’s waist, his fingers digging into flesh, “Sorry. This’n’ is mine.”

Joy, unadulterated, rolled over him. Unguarded, he chuckled and gave Jesse a sincere, rare smile.

Something flickered in Jesse’s eyes, a soft smile crossing his face, “Yeah, you did real good sweetness. Let’s get you back t’gether.”

Jesse swept a hand behind Hanzo’s ear and leaned in close. Right against the shell of his ear, he whispered, “Mr. Perfect went left of the alley. Heading on sidewalk.”

_ “Roger.” _ came the reply in Hanzo’s earpiece. Stupefied, he stared at Jes… McCree who waited patiently for something.

For what? He blinked in confusion, afraid of making a mistake; afraid he already had.

Then it clicked.

He was waiting for the answer.

“They said roger.” Hanzo’s voice was as small as he felt - a fleck of dust, a mote of sand. 

Nothing. 

Grunting an acknowledgment, McCree helped them get cleaned up and tucked away. Numbness made his fingers thick and tragically useless, so all he could do was watch.

McCree’s hand rested on the small of his back to the edge of the alleyway, and then he stepped apart. “Come on, we need to get out of here. The others will get the guy. You’re in no shape for a mission.” His words were gentle, but they could not mask the sting. 

He entered the club not wanting a similar experience to the ones he got as a young adult. Funnily enough, he left now feeling the same -

Cold. 

Used.

And lonely.


	3. "How can I trust you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo operating at max snark-capacity  
> also, McCree trying to be the flame alchemist

After meeting his brother for the first time in ten years, Hanzo had two more encounters. One, right after the New Years, where they awkwardly shared memories and cheap convenience store ramen. It was the nicest new year Hanzo had spent in… Well, ten years.

Then shortly after that, during  _ Hanami _ , a letter had arrived at the post office box he kept strictly for residence purposes… Under a fake alias. The letter contained a key for a train-deposit box with a ticket stub for a town near Hanamura. That box opened to a holopad, with a pre-shot message. Genji was in some sort of… Darkroom. There was humming, low and electrical, in the background.

_ “Hanzo! Yo! I hope you’re doing well. Listen, I’ve decided how I want to help the world, and I want you to join me. I’ve left some clues to help you figure it out. See you soon!” _

Calling the cryptic hints clues were generous. Genji had always been bad at making solvable puzzles, and this one was no different. Though the days spent crippled by anxiety or too hungover to function added to the time it took.

Three weeks after retrieving the video message, he stood on the shores of the abandoned Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Other than the far-off sound of buoy bells and the low, hypnotic calls of passing ship horns, the place was silent and deserted. Lifeless.

If this were a trap to lead him to his death, it was a rather poetic one - a fact Hanzo appreciated deeply. Having betrayed his brother for turning them over to the organization, and then led to this place by his brother… If Genji had the final blow, his soul could rest easy.

But as he turned a corner, snatches of conversation bounced around in the empty spaces -

“... Coming?” A rough voice, thick with a southern united states accent.

“ … Must be …. For sure.” And Genji. Well at least Hanzo knew he hadn’t come to the wrong area.

It became clearer and clearer that the conversation was about waiting for someone - for him. Until finally, he stood outside a building where the voices were coming from.

“You do not have to stay, McCree. I have told you this before.” His brother sounded miffed as if this were not the first time the two had had this conversation.

“Ooooh no. Nuh-uh,” this McCree responded in a short, borderline angry tone. As Hanzo stepped through the halls, he finally found the large room they were in - a rec room of sorts. A large sofa and chair rested. Both men stood to the far side, their backs turned to Hanzo. One unmistakably his brother, shiny in his metal armor. The other, the one Genji had called ‘McCree’. Dressed in jeans, flannel… spurs? And a cowboy hat? Also a revolver at his hip.

“What are you gonna do? Play checkers until I come and clear him and take y’both back?” McCree groused softly and took off his hat, “Nah. I just gotta wait here until you give up the ghost or your bastard brother arrives.”

“The bastard brother,” Hanzo’s voice was painfully bland, “has arrived.”

McCree and Genji whirled on spot, the gunslinger drawing and aiming his pistol at Hanzo, who blinked impassively. Not that seeing a gun drawn on him was boring; his heart soared and adrenaline slammed his veins. But as quick as it had happened, Genji had caught the cowboy’s wrist and held it tight.

“It is merely Hanzo.” Genji addressed the cursing cowboy before he turned to stare at Hanzo, his tone becoming much less impressed, “Did you really have to sneak up on us?”

“I was not sneaking.” Was it childish to immediately deny the obvious? Yes. Did he care? Not really.

Sighing deeply, Genji released McCree’s hand and corrected, “You did not make your presence known, either.”

It was only pride that kept his tongue still then. Thankfully, the cowboy had recovered and seemed eager to ‘take the reigns’ of their conversation. 

“So, why’re you here, Shimada?” McCree’s voice was stern, no-nonsense. Being questioned so should have been expected, but something about the tone rubbed Hanzo wrong.

Snorting, Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to Genji, “I was invited.”

“No. I know how you’re here,” McCree took time to carefully pull a cigar, half smoked, from his breast pocket. Perhaps in a different setting, watching the cowboy snap his prosthetic hand to create a spark to light the cigarette would have been interesting. No one spoke as he took a few puffs to get it going again. Once McCree was satisfied he looked back to Hanzo, “I wanna know  _ why _ you’re here. What are you gettin’ out of this?”

Arching a brow, Hanzo purposefully looked from the irritating questioner to his brother. Was the man dense?

“C’mon Shimada, don’t do this. Genji might buy the big brother schtick, but I sure as shit don’t. No,” The energy surrounding McCree seemed to change, the casualness bleeding from his body and replaced with a sharp, hard look that bespoke years of training and fighting, “What do you think a small, illegal organization can give ya that someone… Say Talon? That they couldn’t.”

Ah. Hanzo barely kept his surprise hidden, but his respect (and irritation) for the cowboy grew. Genji, on the other hand, almost recoiled at the name.

“What are you bringing them up for?”

Ignoring Genji, McCree continued, “A lot of recruiters have come barking at your heels, offerin’ you lots of things: your clan back, fortune, and just about anything in between.”

“How do you know this?” Hanzo kept his voice calm and measured, even as goosebumps crawled along his back. How long had he been watched for? By whom? Hanzo was good at keeping a low profile and being discrete.

“I got my sources.” McCree seemed smug and that wouldn’t do. Not at all.

“Then your  _ sources _ ,” Hanzo spit the word out, “Should have told you I turned them all down. Repeatedly.”

Snorting, McCree took a deep drag and blew the smoke out slowly. Biding time and likely trying to make him uncomfortable, Hanzo decided. It wasn’t working. If anything, he was becoming increasingly annoyed with the charade.

“How can I trust you?” Now that question… That was a question Hanzo hadn’t expected to face immediately. He honestly had no idea how to convince anyone he deserved to be trusted when he largely didn’t trust himself. “You might be smart enough t’know Talon will ask for more than they ever give, but I’m thinkin’ you’re smart enough t’know that Overwatch don’t have the tools to help either.”

“McCree.” Genji warned.

“No, Genji. How can I? He ain’t gonna get his money or his power back either way. So why the fuck is he here?” McCree looked back to Hanzo, a scowl on his face, “How can I trust you?”

Money? Power? The Clan? Oddly, like Talon, this cowboy believed Hanzo still hungered for those trappings. It was a fact he could only assume came from one place - the clan saving face.

“Why would I seek those things?” Shifting, Hanzo brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder, “The Shimada clan did not push me out. I left of my own volition.”

The stunned surprise from the cowboy was rewarding enough. There was always a thrill to putting someone back in their place.

“Wait. You left?” Ah, but Genji. Hanzo blinked stupidly at his brother, having forgotten he was there.

“Yes.” Hanzo found himself answering without thought.

“If you haven’t been trying to get back the clan,” Genji continued, increasing Hanzo’s discomfort, “Then what have you been doing.”

Taking a steadying breath, Hanzo tried to keep his tone steady, “Finding Honor.”

“And why’s that, Shimada?” McCree’s tone had changed dramatically, as had his body language. There was something in his eyes, something sharp and too percieving that set Hanzo’s skin aflame.

“... I would rather not discuss that.” It was a pathetic dodge, but much to his surprise, the cowboy seemed to accept it.

Sighing, McCree scratched at his jaw, “Verdict Genji?”

“Still the same. I believe him.”

Shrugging, McCree chuckled and clapped his hands together, “All right. Well, Mr. Shimada Sr.”

“Please,” Hanzo interjected quickly, “Do not call me senior.”

“Right. Well, Shimada, I guess you earned a trial membership. I’ll phone ahead to let ‘em know we’re coming.”

“And where are we going?” Hanzo disliked not knowing.

“To our new base of operations. A lovely, relatively unknown Overwatch station in the heart of The Black Forest.”


End file.
